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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27998544">Statement #006506: Lunch Break</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Generic_Ao3_Writer/pseuds/Generic_Ao3_Writer'>Generic_Ao3_Writer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant Martian Bullying, I promise this wont be the last of Irving, I spent so many months on this, Leitner Books (The Magnus Archives), OH BOY STATEMENT TIME, Original Statement (The Magnus Archives), Screenplay/Script Format, Statement Fic (The Magnus Archives), The Spiral Fear Entity (The Magnus Archives)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:06:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,771</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27998544</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Generic_Ao3_Writer/pseuds/Generic_Ao3_Writer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Statement of Irving Samotny, regarding their encounter with a copy of H.G Wells. Original Statement given June 5th, 2006. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Statement #006506: Lunch Break</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong>[CLICK]<br/></strong><br/>  <b>ARCHIVIST</b>  <br/>Statement of Irving Samotny, regarding their encounter with a copy of H.G Wells. Original Statement given June 5th, 2006. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.<br/><br/>Statement begins<br/><b><br/>ARCHIVIST(STATEMENT)</b> <b><br/></b> <b><br/></b> It’s weird being on this side of things, having to write everything down. Sorry for the dreadful handwriting, by the way, my aunt always tries to get me to slow down, but I never did listen to her. Maybe I should visit her, not that she would know who I was. Weird how things work out like that.  Sorry, I am getting ahead of myself, I Know you don't like people going on too long about pointless things in these statements. Sorry, let me just try and start from the beginning,<br/><strong><br/>[BEAT]</strong><br/><br/>I supposed it started at my job, I work at an academic institute much like this, but different in all the same ways. Well I mean, I say “work” but that isn’t entirely true. I may do a nearly full-time job but I am more an overblown intern that occasionally goes out to find stuff for our research. Not the best job in the world, with the frankly shitty pay, but it keeps me busy enough. It was because of my position I even found the place. It was supposed to be a simple interview, hell more of a small follow up. Get in, ask like 3 questions, and get out. Easy as pie right? Well, life seems to love to throw us a ton of curveballs<br/><br/>The follow up was supposed to happen at a smaller bookshop in the downtown Soho area, a cozy little place called Turned Pages. Been open for a little over 20 years now, mainly deals in much newer books but the owner, one Philp Hadden, deals with antique bookselling on the side. It was my job to ask a question about a buyer from a few years back. We knew he must have kept a record if he was the least slight bit competent. I didn’t have much faith in him, to be honest, the guy seemed like a total crackpot from what I read, but my boss didn't like to leave a single stone left unturned. So, there I was, standing outside this bookshop with my dinky little notebook and a pen behind my ear. I felt so stupid, there was a reason I mostly took follow-ups in the office. Even still, the world thought it would be funny to torment me, and torment me it did. As soon as I walked into the shop, I wanted to run back out. It felt off like there was just too much of something in there. The air practically hummed with it. I rushed to the front desk, trying to look for Mr. Hadden, I didn’t want to be there for more time than I had to. The place just gave me the creeps, and not in a good way. It took a good couple of rings of the bell on the front desk before I saw him come out of the back. He was almost exactly like I had envisioned him to be. He was a mole of a man, hunched and small. He had these beady little black eyes that just glared at me. His hair was greasy and patchy like he was going bald in random places. He just seemed..horrid. You know how The Picture of Dorian Gray rots while the man continues on the same as before? Well, Mr. Hadden looked like that portrait as a human. I could barely stand to look at him.<br/><br/>It took me a moment to find my voice, telling him that my older brother had bought a book from a shop around here, but he forgot which one. I was just trying to find out which one and get proof of purchase, maybe even take a look at his selection if I had the time. Yeah, I lied, but with my job, you know you have to do anything to get information. Really, I didn’t think that the man would believe me, I wasn’t the best liar. I could always thank my Father for that, I may have inherited his trait for curiosity but I also got his ability to be the worst liar in the room. Thankfully, Hadden believed me and nodded. His voice was scratchy and felt slimy like each word had to drip its way out of his mouth. He said he did have some record, he just needed to check and told me I could wait right there while he did so. I gave him the name of the book and off he went.<br/><br/>I can’t say that I liked to snoop into people’s stuff, but honestly, I didn’t trust Hadden as far as I could throw him. So, as soon as he had his back turned, I hopped the counter and started to look at all the things there. At a first glance, it wasn’t all that interesting, mostly old receipts, books that had been returned, and a whole mess of poorly organized stationary.  It took awhile before my eyes landed on it, a book slightly hidden by the papers on the desk. If I wasn't already looking around for things I shouldn't have, I probably would have totally skipped over it. It was a smaller paperback, pages worn by time, stained from years of use. The cover was old and looked to be creased and bent. The title on the cover was slightly faded but I could still make out the words, “The Time Machine By H.G Wells.” It was, by all means, an unremarkable book, something you would find at any Charity Shop and never blink an eye. What made this book weird was the fact I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. There was just something about it that was so different, almost like it was calling me. I felt my finger twitch as if they were just begging me to take it, to snatch it up and run away with it.  The Urge was....hard to ignore, but I soon heard the shuffling behind me and that quickly snapped me out of whatever trance that book had caused. I barely got back around to the other side of the desk before Hadden came out from the back. He gave me a quick look up and down before going on about the records he found. I gave them a quick look over and sighed. They did seem to match up with the records I had. The relief was evident in my voice as  I thanked him for his time, and I was all ready to turn tail and get the hell out of dodge before I heard him ask me to stay for just another minute. I knew it was a bad idea, that it would likely end in tragedy for me, That I would get drugged and murdered, never to be seen again! Yet my curiosity got the better of me, something that had always been my downfall. So I sucked up my pride and stayed, waiting for him to tell me whatever he needed to. He smiled at me and I shivered, I know there is a stereotype about the British and our poor teeth but this man was a poster child for that and more. They were cracked, chipped, crooked, and the color of mold. He quickly handed me a small paper parcel, carefully wrapped and tied with a striped twine. It would be a lie to say I wasn’t absolutely baffled at the thing sitting in my hands. I looked up at him, stuttering out a thank you. He nodded and simply said that it was for my troubles. It was then I decided it was finally time for me to get the hell out of dodge. I waved quickly and turned on my heels, heading right out of that shop and as far as my feet would take me.<br/><br/><br/>I don't know how long I exactly walked for, I just remember seeing people pass by as I clutched the parcel tightly to my chest. Everything seemed to be a blur then, faces blurry and signs seemingly making no sense, although I am unsure if this is because of my status as neurodivergent mixed with the near sensory overload from the shop or of the events that happened soon afterward. All I do know is that I didn’t stop until I just about collapsed into a park bench. I barely took off my bag and set it down gently next to me before I remembered the parcel. It sat perfectly in my lap, not too heavy and not too light. I looked around, suddenly feeling like I was being watched, like I had 100 eyes trained right on the back of my head. It reminded me how I would feel at my place of work, that feeling of not being entirely alone, always having someone watching your every move. I..honestly hated it, but I wanted this all done and over with as soon as possible. So, looking down at the parcel, I tore open. It took a few minutes but soon I held a copy of the Time Machine by H.G Wells, the same one from the bookshop. The feeling from before had come back and, god, it was electric. I am still not sure why I felt like this, why I just had this need to just read this book, to soak in every page and word there was in it. However, For as amazing and intoxicating the feeling was, It was downright horrifying. It felt like my body was moving without me, forcing me to pick up the book and open it to the first page. I couldn’t even stop myself from reading aloud the title and even the small addendum, a bookplate, added to the front cover.  “From The Library of Jurgen Leitner.” As soon as I saw that name, I knew my fate was sealed. I knew what horrors that man’s books had brought to the world, what horrors it had even brought my Father and My Dad. And Yet, I couldn’t stop reading, like the book was pulling the words from my mouth. I couldn’t tell you just exactly what I read, my memory of them are foggy, and what I do remember reading didn’t seem like it would belong in this story anyways. What I do remember are the spirals, the twisting, and turning of the ink on the page, the way it made my head spin, and the words pulling from my mouth blur together in an incomprehensible way. I know that I was scared, that I wanted to stop and run and go home, But there was another part of me, a part that needed this. It needed me to keep going, and keep reading, to see just how far and twisted this fear went. That part of me, that sick and twisted obsession with the results of this endeavor, was truly more terrifying than that book may ever be.<br/><br/><br/>In the moment, I wasn’t sure how long I was gonna be stuck there, forced to read from this book of pure incomprehensible madness. It felt like both a second and an eon, A moment of pure, unfathomable panic, seeming like this was my new eternity….and then, it stopped. My mouth snapped shut with an audible clack, and suddenly I was back at the park, the birds chirping and the sun shining. I wasn’t even totally sure any of it was real, too jarred from the sudden release. I looked at my watch and it said I had spent nearly 30 minutes there, just reading from that cursed Leitner.  So, I did what any smart person would do. I shoved that fucker far down into my bag and started on my way back to work. I had tried to call my boss, to explain and apologize, but my phone wouldn’t work. It took nearly 10 minutes to turn the damn thing on, and even then when I got it on, it only showed an eye hurting spiral of color. I really didn’t wanna deal with that, so I just threw it into my pocket as I kept walking to get back to work. However, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. I Knew London, I could always find my way around and I remembered all the shops, but nothing here seemed to line up with that. Places I remembered being abandoned and foreclosed were in their prime, shops I frequented were either other shops or not even built yet. I had no clue what the hell was even going on. It took another hour of just wandering around London before just what happened really sunk in. I was looking around, just trying to find something familiar, when my eyes landed on a newspaper kiosk. It was honestly a pretty predictable place, your common advertisements, and headlines. What got me was the date.</p><p> </p><p>June 2nd, 2006. I really couldn't believe it that..that was 30 years ago. The last time I checked it was 2036, not this. I Know what you're thinking, "Oh they are just on drugs or this is a prank!" But I promise you it isn't. I am being 100% serious. In the moment...I panicked, I won't be afraid to admit I slightly lost it at the revelation, It was crazy and I was terrified. Still, I think the past 3 days have helped me clear my head, so I finally sucked it up and came to the Institute, I knew that this would make for a good enough statement. It was hard getting here, I will say that, Ms.Robinson keeps her archives so...Messy. I know it was hell for me to clean up, but I do have to thank you Jon for at least trying to make sense of things, really did help in the long run. Hm, yes you did read that right, I am talking to you Jon. I Know you are going to be the one reading this, You're probably already ready to put my statement in the Discredited pile and go on your way, but maybe this will help sway you. Hope I didn't give you too much of a scare. Who knows, maybe when I get back home, I can file away my own statement, the life of an Archival Assistant at the Magnus Institute is never truly done after all.<br/><br/></p><p>  <b>ARCHIVIST</b>  <br/><br/>Statement Ends<br/><br/>I am still not totally convinced this isn’t a slapdash prank that Tim set up, It sounds like a bad science fiction novel. Seems up his alley. As for what actually checks out with the rest of the information it's spotty, as some things ring true but the rest is false. Martin was surprisingly competent for once, finding out rather quickly that the Irving Samotny does not exist and never has. According to Martin, “Samotny” just means Lonely in Polish and isn't a real last name at all.<br/><br/>The other details of this statement also seem to not hold much credit, even if the timing does seem to match up. There is a bookstore called “Turned Pages” in the area that Mx. Samotny describes but it only opened as of last year and its owner is one Simon Hadden, No Philp Hadden listed anywhere on the employee list. That shop also has no record of every being in the antique book business, Leitner or otherwise. Speaking of which, the presence of a Leitner, while deeply concerning, does not automatically mean that the statement’s content is true or even reputable. The mention of me, before I even worked here just solidifies the likelihood of this statement being false. <br/><br/>Since The name was fake, Tim predictably wasn't able to conduct a follow-up, all the addresses given were fake and no number was given. Not that I would think a follow up would be of much use. I asked Sasha to see if anything was left behind and-<br/><br/><strong><br/>[PAUSE. THERE IS THE SOUNDS OF PAPER SHUFFLING]</strong><br/><br/>Ah, It seems Sasha actually found something. It says here there was actually a box left in Artifact Storage when the statement was given. It contained a copy of The Time Machine and a Note, Of which the contents are…<br/><br/><strong><br/>[THE ARCHIVIST TRAILS OFF, CLEARLY RATTLES BY WHATEVER IT IS THE NOTE CONTAINS.]</strong><br/><br/>Oh...<em>Oh</em>, this has to be a sick joke. I-I need time to process.<br/><br/><br/>Recording End<br/><br/>[CLICK]</p>
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